For me, the 11th and next to the last day of the Fair is the official end date for me. Labor Day Monday is the official last day of the Fair but I never go on that date unless it to play pack mule for the Mrs. and kin. I finish all I intend to accomplish, or at least as much of it as I can, by the midnight the Sunday night before Labor Day.
I woke up at 3 in the morning Sunday and by 5:30 was jumping out of my skin to get the hell out of here. I wanted to go the Fair already. Six in the morning comes and goes. By six thirty in the morning, I woke up the entire household and asked who was coming with me to the Fair. Ducking the thrown shoes, I grabbed my stuff and was at the Fairgrounds by 7:00 a.m.
Of course, nobody was open or awake, so I ended up at Phil’s trackside across from the 95X booth on the ‘small midway’. Owned by Phil Davoli, himself a life long Fair Rat who bought his restaurant 100 years ago from the guy he worked for 100 years before that; Davolis serves the best ½ hamburger and has the only margaritas on the Fairgounds. For your dollar, this place is the best family eating establishment on the grounds. Phil also has giant screen televisions and shows racing, football and other sporting events. His is also the only restaurant that is also open during the Syracuse Nationals. Phil and I were talking over coffee and he was telling me he is getting ready to retire. His son will take over the restaurant but, as Phil said, “I will work here until I die and then I want to be buried here.” That, my friends, is a Fair Rat. I promised him an urn in a place of honor at Chevy (then to be named Blum) Court.
(By the way, Phil is the only other person at the Fair besides myself and those I have told, who can tell you the answer to the Ultimate State Fair Trivia question).
Again as with every other day of the cold miserable run of Fair weather, the forecasters got it all wrong. If any precipitation fell, it was a drool and lasted only moments. It was a perfect day to be outside. George Kilpatrick was whining all over his morning show about “what can I do at the Fair in the rain.” Hey George, IT WASN’T RAINING and it never did. It was, however, cold and overcast and wet and muddy. But, that is life at the Fair after ten days. Like a worn leather coat, the Fair may be broken in and marred, but it is like a second skin that warms and comforts you no matter what the conditions.
Leaving Davolis and heading toward Times Square, I passed a restaurant that I felt was worthy of special mention. Once known as Santillos, this restaurant located just to the left of the Pizza Fritte Villa, is now known as ‘Fran’s Hot Dog Stand’. They did not even bother to change any of the trademark Santillos colors or flags. The new owners just taped a new cardboard sign over the printed vinyl. As I passed by Frans, I saw the cook dump a container of definitely day old sausages, onions, and peppers onto the grill. This was about 8:30 in the morning. Immediately, I thought of a commercial. “So, if day old sausage and peppers is your thing at the Fair, be sure to stop by Frans. They will not disappoint you.”
At the 4:00 Foreigner concert, some of my groupies came up and joined me as I played Air Guitar and sang my guts out. Coach E and I sang a hot duet, “she’s a Juke Box Hero, with stars in her eyes.” I told him the band on stage was called Foreigner and our new group was to be called Stranger.
But the 8:00 p.m. Foreigner concert was far better. The songs played and the energy levels from the band were much MUCH better at the 4:00 p.m. show. But that audience sat the whole time and if not for the continuing problem of fat people moving their heads in my face and opening up umbrellas, it would have been a wonderful experience.
The audience at 8:00 p.m. never sat and never stopped singing and dancing. I so impressed the gaggle of drunks standing around me with my loud singing and air guitar playing that I became an instant celebrity. The offered to buy me drinks, were constantly high-5ing me, and would work with me in belting out the lyrics. For just a few minutes, I got to live out my rock and roll fantasy.
Later, as I was readying to leave the grounds for the last time this year, I was sitting in my truck relaxing in the dark and resting. Two guys walked up and stood between the front of my truck and the fence. As they turned their backs and dropped their zippers, ON came my headlights and the engine started up. “Oh shit”, was all I heard as they both scampered off.
